


Summer Breeze Makes Me Feel Fine

by Ghanima_Starkiller



Category: The Stand - Stephen King
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 05:11:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/719236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghanima_Starkiller/pseuds/Ghanima_Starkiller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stu and Frannie share a moment out in the Free Zone sunshine</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Breeze Makes Me Feel Fine

Stu swiped the back of his large hand across his forehead, the sweat beading between his knuckles. He’d abandoned his shirt some time ago and the sun was making his shoulders and back a warm and inviting tan, Fran noted. “Need some help, Stuart?” she offered, arching an eyebrow, a smile playing gently at the corners of her mouth.

“Not from you, chubs,” he answered with a grunt, and a little, disparaging noise flew from her lips. She wasn’t that big, not yet at least, the rise of her stomach gentle beneath the touch of her own soft hand. She could see that the grit of his teeth was no longer from the effort of straining against his work; he was actually grinning, enjoying the rise he knew he’d get from her.

“Watch it, Texas,” she answered the grim set of the pink bow of her mouth betrayed by a threatening smirk. “Haven’t you heard, didn’t Glen tell you anything? Never insult the woman who’s going to make you dinner.”

Stu grinned outright now. “Well, shucks,” he replied, letting his hands fall to his sides, panting for a moment as he braced them against his knees slightly bent over, his head cocked back to regard her where she sat a little way’s away in the thin but green grass, “learned that lesson when I was a boy from my momma. Naw, if you really weren’t gonna fix me supper, I’d go over to Larry and Lucy’s.” She could see something twinkling in his eyes now, and it wasn’t just the glistening of perspiration that covered him in a fine sheen, almost like a summer rain had come through while she wasn’t looking.

“You’re fixin for some mischief,” she noted playfully, exaggeratedly imitating his accent.

“What is it you say?” he asked with a smirk, straightening again and strolling over to her. He grabbed his shirt up but instead of pulling it down over his head again, he wiped himself best he could with it. “Ayuh?”

Frannie chuckled, the pleasant sound of a brook running over the stones in its bed, worn down by years, ages, of the water gurgling by. “I’ll make a Northerner out of you yet, Stuart Redman.”

“I reckon you wouldn’t like me as much if you did,” he answered easily, and his grin was now roguish. They never spoke of Jess, not openly; Fran suspected that Stu didn’t want to know. Or maybe that he knew all he needed to, about how Jesse had reacted, how it had disgusted and angered Fran. Maybe they were just that in tune with each other. Maybe he really did know her that well.

He reached over and lifted her brown hair in one hand, resting his warm hand at the nape of her neck—warm, never sweaty, or unpleasantly hot. Always warm, inviting. He leaned in and kissed her, and suddenly they were struggling with each other’s clothing, his hands sliding up into her t-shirt, pushing her bothersome bra out of the way.

Chubs indeed, she thought with a snicker; there were definite advantages Stu had discovered to her condition, and one of those was the increasing size of her breasts. No, not just the size; the way he handled them, caressed and fondled them, she knew, she could tell that he liked the swollen size of them, the weight they now held that would give way to her mother’s milk in the months to come but were all his for now. Her shirt came up easily over her head, with her arms held high to assist him, the bra handled with a master’s touch and quickly discarded, his mouth descending and replacing the smoothness of the fabric with the gentle abrasion of his wet and hungry tongue, the rhythmic constriction of his lips.

She squirmed, and he smiled up at her, thumbing the button of her jean cut-offs open effortlessly and yanking them over her tanned legs along with her panties. He didn’t need to touch her there to know how wet he’d already made her, but he inserted his hand between her thighs anyway, his fingers grazing her moist lips, the heat sweltering from her like the rays of the summer sun above them. He felt the tip of her clit protruding coyly, engorged and inflamed with her desire, and gave it a couple of flicks with his thumb tip.

Her hips arched off of the ground, a gasp flying from her lips. Two for her, that’s how he liked it; at least two for Frannie, one maybe before hand, every time they did it. His fingers dove deeper, his thumb staying on her button, rubbing in circles, as his index finger plunged inside. She rode his palm, her eyes half-lidded, her lips sweetly parted for the pants and moans that escaped them. It was the look in his eyes, that engaging look of both love and lust, that sent her finally tumbling over the edge, crying out as her entire body seemed to pull toward him as if by magnetism, her head jerking backward.

He entered her with one single thrust while she was still throbbing, still convulsing. He was hard as steel, as he always was, iron encased in soft, damp velvet. Jess had been cut, and had moved, despite her inexperience, like a bullet in her; Stu’s cock seemed to want to take its time, his foreskin moving almost leisurely, dragging against her tender, silken walls even as it stretched and tightened.

He lay her back gently so he could be on top, careful with her, making sure that when their bellies met, it wasn’t with a force that might hurt her or the baby. His mouth was on her neck, her breasts, her mouth as he rode her, steadily at first, and then with growing urgency. “C’mon, Frannie,” he growled in her ear. “C’mon, baby.”

And she was lost again, clinging to him, crying aloud and with abandon as she bucked her hips against his. The spill of his seed was hot inside of her and sticky on her thighs, sweat was pouring down her skin as well now, and mingling with his, just as they mingled down below, where their bodies joined. She’d always loved the summer, had always loved the heat. It was strange not to be able to smell the ocean, its salty tang, but she decided then and there that she preferred the briny smell of Stuart and their sex. That it was the most intoxicating thing she would ever have the privilege of smelling.

Fran started at the clearing of a throat behind her, craned her neck backward and squealed, pushing Stu off of her and reaching desperately for her clothing. “Not interrupting anything then?” Larry asked, standing there with Sue and Ralph, all three grinning like idiots.

“Just takin in some of this summer sunshine,” Stu told them somewhat begrudgingly as he pulled his own pants up around his waist again and fastened them. “Alright, alright,” he grumbled, but he was grinning just as widely, as easily, even as his cheeks burned.

“I think maybe you should be takin in some cold shower next time,” Larry chuckled.

“Way to go, Frannie!” Sue put in, and that was when Fran groaned and bolted into their apartment house, Stu following with an irrepressible smile.


End file.
